Prisoner
by Comana
Summary: So, who else missed Iorveth in The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt? I wrote a small story to kind of include him into the plot, but it all starts with Roche getting captured by the Redanians.
1. Chapter 1

Hello everybody

I know it's been a while since I posted anything here, I'm still invested with my PhD, but I couldn't get this story idea out of my head.

This is because I really missed Iorveth in The Witcher 3, it's a slightly alternative timeline

As always I apologize in advance for eventual spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language, but I write to improve, so feel free to complain ;)

Summary: So, who else missed Iorveth in The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt? I wrote a small story to kind of include him into the plot, but it all starts with Roche getting captured by the Redanians.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of The Witcher, and the characters are sadly not mine

Rating: The story is rated T, there will be a lot of swearing and violence

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

He was startled from his light slumber by the now familiar sound of metal on metal at the door. As he looked up, he saw two of the Redanian prison guards enter in the unsteady light of the torches, lead by the treacherous sorceress. It was still a riddle for him how a sorceress would ally herself with Radovid and his witch hunters, but maybe desperate times called for desperate measures… who was he kidding, the sorceress was a sadistic bitch, he always saw her revel in the pain of her imprisoned fellow sisters.

Roche brought himself into a more upright position, his wrists that were chained to the wall were finally relieved when he put his weight back on his feet. It hurt. _He_ hurt. _Thrice damned Redanians and witch hunters!_ He had been in this dark hellhole for what he assumed five days, and apart from being chained to the wall and occasionally being brought to an adjoining room for torture sessions, nothing happened. Hell, the witch hunters knew him badly when they thought he would betray his Temerian commando and give away their hideout.

Well, he also had to admit that he was slowly dulling out, kind of accepting that there was no chance of escape for him. This prison was too damn well secured, and they were still cautions with him. He was barely able to stand, but they still chained his hands to the wall over his head. Even when they took him for another session of torture, his hands were always secured. He would most likely die in this cursed hellhole, or Radovid would finally lose his patience and have him hanged. The only thing keeping him up was his iron will to not die as a traitor. He had been called many bad names, many of them true, during his life, but a traitor to his men was something he would never be.

He startled again when he realized that the sorceress wasn't stopping in front of Margarita's cell but made her way to the left aiming for him. She had never even changed a word with him, had something changed? When he turned his head to look at her he put a strain on the nasty cut on his shoulder and hissed in pain. This was one of the only cuts he didn't receive during his time in the dungeon but before, at his arrest. It wasn't healing well, but considering the dirt all around the dungeon, it was a miracle that he wasn't already a rotting corpse that had died of an infection.

He watched the sorceress, she was attractive, like all sorceresses, brown locks surrounding a finely shaped face. She never came over to him, he didn't even know her name, but now she strode towards his cell. Well, she proceeded to the cell to his left. Which was strange, because it was empty – since yesterday, before there had been a poor halfling that had been taken to burn on some made up charges – well, his crime was obviously belonging to the wrong species, but the poor lad was obviously much too spineless to have anything to do with a rebellion.

The guards opened the cell door, and Roche was seriously wondering what the sorceress wanted in the cell. They didn't have a prisoner with them either, so it made no sense at all. His eyes never wavered from the sorceress, but she pointedly ignored him and produced something from a pouch she wore around her slim waist. Roche couldn't see too much in the dim torchlight, but it looked like a small figurine. He huffed. _Sorceresses!_ Seemed like she had cracked and was going crazy.

She heard him and sent him a partly annoyed and partly calm look, said nothing and went back to her task. She stood back up and began some kind of enchantment, muttering words unknown to him and weaving her arms. The torches flared up and jittered strongly. The two guards stepped back from the sorceress, obviously feeling unwell around the disreputable magic the witch was using.

She finished with a loud shout and Roche's eyes went absurdly big when he suddenly saw a whole grown body lie in the cell next to his. It still made his flesh crawl what sorceresses were able to do. The damn wench had just produced a body out of thin air – or more likely, now that he thought about it, out of the small figurine – and she didn't even look exhausted.

Roche's gaze went back to the body. He was beginning to wonder if he was dead when he heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by an agonized roar. Roche knew that sound. Very well. It was unfiltered and pure agony, he had not seldom been the cause for such a sound. When he heard it, he knew that he had been successful and could finally begin with the important questions. However, in this situation, he despised it. Oh, how he wished to tear such a scream from his captors. But not from his now fellow prisoner.

Whatever the witch had done to him, it must hurt like hell, because the new prisoner still tried to supress his roars into pained snarls. It looked like every intake of breath worsened the pain and he was oblivious to everything around him. He had been in this state for around five minutes now, and at this level of pain it must seem like an eternity. Roche watched, still shocked by the sudden apparition, as the sorceress finally signalled one of the guards, a small smirk on her face when the man put the prisoner's hands in shackles and the action tore a new scream from the poor lad.

The guard stepped back and Roche saw that the prisoner now had his face towards him. He was still entwined in his pain and unresponsive, but Roche would recognize this face anywhere. Hell, he probably knew this face, partly concealed by a bandana, better than any of his lovers' faces.

"The fuck…" he could only murmur when he realized that the guy still writhing in pain in the cell next to him was fucking Iorveth. His damned archenemy Iorveth.

His face snapped back to the sorceress when she let out a laugh.

"I was wondering when you would realize. Took you long enough," when he didn't respond, because honestly, he was still in shock, she continued "I knew the irony of this situation would not be wasted on you"

Roche finally gathered some of his wits back. He huffed.

"Yeah, very funny, never had such a good time in the last five days", he was proud that his voice sounded relatively strong. "will he stay like this?"

Roche himself wasn't sure why he asked this question. Before he knew it was Iorveth he felt pity for the guy, but now… he wasn't sure. It was strange finding the so proud and stoic elf in such a condition, and although he had wished for his death more than a thousand times, what he saw was – if nothing else – highly disconcerting. Really, Iorveth, the proudest Aenh Seidhe that he knew was whimpering on the prison floor. It just wasn't right.

He was brought out of his musings when the sorceress spoke again.

"Oh, he will recover. Most likely. Artefact decompression is a complicated spell, but if he doesn't cough up blood until the morning, he should be fine-" she made a pause and looked pointedly at him and Margarita, currently the only other occupants of the many cells "-for the time being. Radovid wants to know the hideouts of the Scoia'tael and the Nonhumans they're hiding, so…" she drawled off, and Roche knew what that meant. He was in for the same treatment as him. Just lovely. They would be tortured in turns.

The guards meanwhile finished locking the cell door and the trio made its leave. Roche still had thousand questions. How had they gotten their hands on Iorveth? Why did the witch turn him into a statue? And why the fuck did anyone think it was a good idea to imprison the thrice-damned elf next to him?

But he knew he wouldn't get any answers. When he heard the heavy door lock again, he gazed back to Iorveth. His left foot protested when he put too much weight on it, but he ignored it. The elf had stopped growning and was now breathing flatly, a deep crease between his eyebrows indicating that he still was in severe pain.

Well, Roche had been known for being a bastard, he wouldn't stop now.

"Iorveth" he simply said the name. The elf stirred, he clearly began to come to, and perceive his surroundings again.

He turned his head towards Roche, and he could see that he had trouble with bringing his one eye into the right position to see his fellow prisoner.

"Que'ss…" Iorveths voice sounded raw, his eye was now looking at Roche, but clearly not recognizing him yet. No surprise, Roche remembered that he had been stripped of his heavy armour and his chaperon, he was only clad in his trousers and a light undershirt, his dirty hair stuck to his scalp.

After some seconds Iorveth finally recognized who he was imprisoned with, considering the impressive stream of elven curses falling from his lips. Impressive because even Roche, as the target of many elven curses, didn't know some of them.

"Ysgarthiad, Roche… what in d'yaebl's name are you doing here?" Roche noted with a pang of amusement the surprise and shock that fought over dominance in the elf's voice, however, it was still laced with pain.

"Same as you, I guess…", that earned him only a huff from the elf, but he was getting slightly better, at least he managed to crawl towards the stone wall and lean against it with a sigh. Roche had to strain his neck to keep an eye on him, and for Iorveth it was equally uncomfortable since Roche was to his right and he had to turn his head at an awkward angle to keep him in sight of his healthy left eye.

"How did they...?", Iorveth asked, and Roche was not sure if he should answer him. All in all, Iorveth was still his enemy. But he would most likely die a truly unpleasant death right next to him, and it was not really a secret what happened to him. At least it would prove a small distraction. So, he began to recount

* * *

AN: So, what do you think? I was not a hundred percent sure if Iorveths and Roches reactions seem realistic, but it's a really extreme situation. Please leave a review, they always help me to get better and stay motivated :)


	2. Chapter 2

"How did they...?", Iorveth asked, and Roche was not sure if he should answer him. All in all, Iorveth was still his enemy. But he would most likely die a truly unpleasant death right next to him, and it was not really a secret what happened to him. At least it would prove a small distraction. So, he began to recount

* * *

 _Roche enjoyed the fresh wind that pulled at his chaperon. Finally being back on a horseback instead of the clam and dark cave was a huge relief. Although he was only using small trails in the woods he reached his destination much too early. A hut in the outskirts of Novigrad. It lay far outside, he could see the majestic walls of the city enthroned in the Pontar river. He had left his horse in the forest, he didn't want to raise the suspicion of the guards that were stationed at the bridge to Novigrad. He entered the hut without knocking. A bald man who was clearly nervous awaited him sitting on an old bench._

 _"_ _Beor Parvi?" he asked, and after his nod, Roche strode through the room, scanning the sparely furnished hut for hideouts. He found nothing._

 _Roche sat down before Beor, the lad was nervous enough already, he didn't need any intimidating tactics. Beor was about to commit treason to his king, he had important information about Radovid's plans. That's why Roche needed to do this himself. To check if the lad was earnest and to gather all the information that he needed. The guy before him was visibly uncomfortable, but Roche was used to these emotions towards him. All in all, Beor was only a kitchen assistant on Radovid's ship, but by accident now in possession of this valuable information._

 _"_ _So," he began, "I really wonder why you'd give up that information of yours," he raised his eyebrows expectantly._

 _The guy gulped once. "It's because of my wife… she is -" he stopped for some seconds "– was a half-elf. She was taken by the witch hunters." His gaze went to the wood of the table, and he continued with thin voice. "She was executed at Hierarchs Square. I couldn't bring myself to be there."_

 _Roche saw that his grief was not acted, he gave Beor a minute to collect himself._

 _"_ _So, you overheard a conversation between Radovid and his advisor?"_

 _"_ _Yes, I did."_

 _Roches head snapped up when he heard a noise outside. He stood up and went to the window, hand on his sword hilt, but couldn't see anything besides the edge of the woods. To make matters worse it was the only window in the hut and was just opposite of the door. Roche went to the door calmly, signalling Beor to not make a sound. Just as Roche wanted to open the door it was loudly pulled open. Within a second, Roche had his sword drawn and stood before five Redanian soldiers and three witch hunters that stood behind but hadn't entered yet._

 _Roche cursed. He was helplessly outnumbered. Why the fuck did he have to do this assignment himself? And how could he so gravelly misjudge Beor? He took a quick glance to the man, he didn't want to have another enemy in his back. But Beor was halfway through the narrow window already. The first soldier used the small distraction to launch his attack. Roche parried easily and gave the man a nasty blow with his elbow, before he parried the sword of the second soldier. He kicked the man in the knee and shoved his sword into his chest when he stumbled.  
Meanwhile the first soldier had recovered and swung his sword in a semicircle. Roche stepped to the side, his honed reflexes guiding him nearly without thinking. Unfortunately, the wall was in his way and the sword caught the flesh of his left shoulder. The soldier clearly expected to hit something more solid and he stumbled forward, what gave Roche the chance to slash his sword across the man's throat, painting it in a surge of angry red. He quickly turned around to counter the remaining soldiers and noticed – too late - that they had retreated and made place for the - by the way completely uncalled-for - witch hunters. Two witch hunters that had drawn crossbows aimed at him. Roche was still panting heavily from the exertion mere seconds ago. That was just unfair. The witch hunters were too far away, he had not even a chance to strike one of them before he would have two crossbow bolts lodged in his chest. "Damn sons of half-oren whores," he cursed, but the third witch hunter who hadn't drawn any weapon and was clearly the leader, just laughed._

 _"_ _Look who's speaking, Vernon Roche," Roches anger surged up, but was soon replaced with deadly calm. So, this would be his end, then. He just regretted that he couldn't reach for the throwing knife that was tucked in his boot and take at least one of the damned witch hunters with him._

 _"_ _Sword on the floor, now!"_

 _Roche grinned without any humour. So they wanted to take him alive, trying to get information about the other conspirators and the hiding place of his special forces. Well, as long as he was still alive there was a chance of escape, whereas he would never spill any information to the witch hunters. With a sigh, he let go of his sword, the dull clanging of metal on wood sounding like grave bells in his ears._

 _He was shoved ungently against the wall and searched for weapons, and to his spite they found all of them. He was stripped of his armour and his hands were tightly secured behind his back with rough leather strings. The leader of the witch hunters, an ugly smug smile plastered on his face, took him by the shoulder and led him out. Few meters to the side of the door lay Beor's corpse, a gashing cut in his throat like a second mouth with a disfigured smile grinning reproachfully at Roche._  
 _The witch hunter leading him made a small detour and gave the body a kick. "His story was true, for the most part. Only that his wife wasn't dead yet. Lad really thought we would let her live if he played along. Not an unattractive girl, by the way." His leer made Roche want to strangle the man. Instead, he swung his head back and to the side, and he heard a satisfying crunch when he struck the witch hunter's nose. He heard a groan and was swiftly punished with a kick to the back of his legs, landing him on his knees._

 _"_ _You will pay for that," he heard the guy's now nasal voice, much too near his ear. Then pain exploded on the back of his head and everything went black._

* * *

There was a long stretch of silence after Roche finished his story. He looked to the side to see if Iorveth had gone unconscious again, but the elf just sat there, motionless. When he finally broke his silence, Roche thought that he heard a slight undertone of humour in the elf's voice, but he quickly discarded the notion as impossible.

"Now, that's sorely disappointing."

"What?" Roche had no idea what Iorveth was talking about.

The elf just huffed, "the infamous Vernon Roche, ruthless hunter of Scoia'tael, not anticipating someone pointing an arrow at him? Like I said, disappointing."

Roche digested the sentence. Had that been a joke? Well, it was a pathetic one, but still… he began to chuckle. He heard Iorveth to his left chime in. They held it up for quite some time, two enemies with nothing left to lose than their lives, pathetic, bit it just fit.

* * *

AN: Soo, we now know how Roche got himself into this mess, next chapter might tell uns a bit more about Iorveth. If you liked this chapter, please leave me a review :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Iorveth was slowly recovering from his ordeal. It still felt like every inch of is body hurt, but the agony of the beginning had subsided and he was steadily getting better. He finally tried to stand up. Luckily his hands were shackled before his body, making it easier to steady himself first on the wall and then on the metal bars. Roche shot him a curious look, but remained where he was. Well, he had no other choice, since he was shackled to the wall, but Iorveth didn't care.

It was still strange, seeing Roche not in his Temerian uniform and his short brownish hair instead of the chaperon.

His search ended soon. There was absolutely nothing he could use to get free, both the locks on his chains and the door were massive and all the bars were firmly anchored into the floor and ceiling. All the other cells but one were currently empty. He could see a tuft of blond hair but nothing more.

"Who's that?", he asked his unwilling cellmate.

Roche let out an irritated huff, but anwered anyway. "Margarita Laux-Antille, a sorceress Radovid hates more than the others. Radovid tortures and burns her students and sisters one after another, but saves her for last. Understandably, she's not very chatty."

Iorveth nodded. He had heard the name already. She had been a member of the Lodge of Sorceresses, and it was no secret that Radovid despised them the most. He let out a disappointed sigh when he came back from his round in the exceptionally small cell and leaned against the wall again. He coughed. He was completely dehydrated and needed water.

"Are you coughing up blood?", he heard Roche ask.

Iorveth frowned at the strange question, but made sure and looked at his hands. Nothing on them.

"No, why?"

"Oh, the sorceress just said that if you coughed up blood something with the decompression went wrong and you might die…"

 _Just great_. But there was thankfully no blood. He sighed. He had no idea what happened before he awoke to the terrible pain. "Decompression?" he hoped that Roche would maybe enlighten him.

"You were a small statue, in size smaller than a fist. I thought the sorceress crazy when she came down here to this cell without a prisoner. But she performed some magic, called it artefact decompression, and here you are. To my utmost delight," Iorveth was not surprised by the jab at the end.

He was deep in thoughts when Roche spoke again.

"I've told you how I landed here, I think it's only fair if you tell me how you got yourself into that mess." Iorveth thought about it. It was not a long story, and Roche had been a reliable source of information. And since he had nothing else to do, he began.

* * *

 _Iorveth sighed once again. Not such a long time ago he had had hope for a world free of prejudices, led by Saskia in Vergen, but Radovid had thwarted them once again. Once again proof that it only needed one deluded dh'oine in a position of power to start the prosecution again. And this time, it was worse than ever. The Aen Seidhe were once more forced into the forests, just because they wanted to keep their lives.  
_

 _Iorveth had been busy, to his chagrin not with fighting against the Redanians and witch hunters, but with developing new outposts and securing routes for the Nonhuman refugees. Every now and then he managed to raid a prisoner transport or the likes, but the witch hunters mostly operated in the cities where Iorveth and his Scoia'tael would be sorely ineffective and eye-catching._

 _He turned back to Uriel, the elf who managed the hideout in the forests south of Oxenfurt. Like in every hideout, the growing population and therefore the growing need for food were a problem. Elves were able to live with what the forests gave them, but the resources were limited, they sheltered other Nonhumans and they needed a network to distribute the food. However with such a network they would be easier to find.  
No matter what they did, it would be a bad decision with consequences.  
Iorveth was brought back from his thoughts by an angry stare of Uriel. Yeah, his thoughts had drifted away, but he was the leader of the Scoia'tael, no damned curator. Well, Uriel was more than thrice his age and he knew that he needed the woman on his good side, she had the experience to do the curating stuff he despised so much._

 _"_ _We need to be careful. The outposts further away from the big cities need to collect more food and we have to spread it, but only with single horsemen or families that are not suspicious," he began, he had already thought about the problem a lot, "but we need to be careful with –", he was interrupted by a birdcall – well, not an actual birdcall, but a scout making the call – there were enemies nearby._

 _Uriel had also heard it, their discussion completely forgotten, she scrambled away to warn the other fugitives. They had to quickly hide back in the cave if they didn't want to be discovered.  
There was no panic or loud noises breaking out, just some more birdcalls and slightly more rustling in the leaves than normal. Iorveth quickly went up a tree to have a look at the oncoming threat. Some trees further, he reached one of the scouts, who pointed into the forest. Heavily armed horsemen, Redanian army and witch hunters. He cursed under his breath. They headed straight towards the cave, they most likely had discovered it earlier and now gathered their forces to invade and slaughter.  
The around hundred and twenty nonhumans scrambled into the cave, but if the Intruders knew of it they would be trapped. The scout had also perceived the problem and Iorveth heard him make the signal for using the exit at the back end of the cave. But the riders were approaching fast, the people wouldn't stand a chance. _

_Iorveth skeltered back to the ground, screaming for his warriors to meet him at the cave entrance, stealth now forgotten. They had to fight, giving the other people time to flee. Five of his warriors gathered around him, and he knew that five more were covering them from the trees. He cursed himself that he didn't take more Scoia'tael to this venture._

 _The Redanians heard him and finally realized that they had been spotted. They spurred their horses and came at them with a lot of speed. Iorveth had to retreat, otherwise they would be trampled.  
Deeper in the cave, it was narrow and there were still too many people hurrying to the back of it. Iorveth built a wall with his warriors, thankfully it was also too narrow for the horses, and the Redanians had to approach on foot._

 _They attacked fiercely, most likely realizing that the time was running against them. His warriors fought with all that they had, they were good fighters, but they didn't have steel plate armour like their opponents. Two of the Redanians fell by arrows finding the gaps in the armour, but far too many remained, and Iorveth saw that even more riders arrived behind them.  
His blade found his way under a helmet and the knight sunk together bonelessly. The next one swung his sword towards the elf and Iorveth quickly stepped aside. His parade slid off the plated chest of the knight. The knight retreated one step and called out to his comrades. "It's fucking Iorveth! Let's kill that whoreson!"  
So they recognized him, but the fight didn't change at all, it was too narrow to change tactics._

 _Iorveth had until now lost three of his elves, but he still heard the people flee towards the exit of the cave. They had to hold it, no matter the cost.  
Iorveth landed a lucky blow against the guy that had recognized him, he sunk to the cave floor gargling, but Iorveth's sword was blocked in between the armour plates. He shifted to get both of his hands around the hilt, when he saw a fireball flying towards them. "Ys!" He screamed to his brethren while diving down and to the side. The other two elves were on the opposite side of the cave ducking behind a rock. Iorveth crouched behind the dead body of the knight, he felt the heat singe parts of his gear, but the brunt of the fireball missed.  
They had a sorcerer. That was bad._ _Really bad_. _He threw a quick glance to the back of the cave. The last elves were leaving the exit, and he saw Uriel cast him a sad and slightly thankful smile. She led her people out and was the last who left._

 _"_ _Vort!" He motioned to his remaining Scoia'tael to cover the last escapees from behind. They had a much shorter way from their hideout behind the rock. They still hesitated._

 _"_ _Now!" he screamed at them, making it impossible to disobey. They hurried towards the exit. The Redanians began to rearrange themselves after the magic attack and Iorveth used the distraction to follow his warriors. He had to leave his sword but already had his daggers in hand.  
However the sorcerer did not tarry. A huge surge of air hit him from behind and he was thrown against a rock. He quickly blinked away the stars that tried to engulf him. He tightened the grip on his daggers. A woman with brown locks and no armour approached. He sneered. So it was a sorceress. Witch hunters leaguing with a sorceress. The irony wasn't lost on him._

 _She approached him cautiously, flanked by two witch hunters in their ridiculous outfits. He knew that they wouldn't let him go, he was to be their trophy if they couldn't have the encampment. His hand shot out in an inhumanly fast movement and his dagger flew straight at the sorceresses' chest. Shortly before it hit, it disintegrated into feathers. Iorveth let out a furious scream. He threw his other dagger for good measure, but it met its predecessor's fate. He reached for his bow that was still secured behind his back, but the sorceress was quicker. Her next spell hit him straight in the chest and he sacked together, all his muscles completely limp. Even his eyelid was shut closed._

 _He felt his body hit the cave floor bluntly. His adrenaline faded and the realization that he was thoroughly defeated and at the witch hunter's mercy made fear crawl inside his blood. He heard the people approaching and a foot turned his limp body onto his back._

 _"_ _We will need every man to secure him, the Scoia'tael will try to free this sonovabitch," he heard one of the witch hunters say before he planted his boot in his side for good measure. It hurt, but Iorveth couldn't make a sound, even less protect himself._

 _"_ _No," the sorceress objected, "I have a better idea, and it's much more inconspicuous," he heard her recite another spell, this time much longer, and when she finished it was as if his whole being disappeared._

* * *

"So, I got duped by some crossbows and you by that damned sorceress. Great."

Iorveth did not comment on Roche's remark. He thought about the people in the encampment and wondered if the witch hunters had chased them into the forest or left them alone for the moment. He was pretty sure that Uriel would make the right decisions, but if one encampment was discovered others could follow. He sighed. He wouldn't be able to do anything more for his Scoia'tael, well besides not selling them out, but that was out of the question.

He glanced towards Roche. He still stood at the wall, now hanging in his chains to release his feet of the weight. Despite the weak torchlight Iorveth could see that his right foot was severely injured.  
Looking at him was strange, he was his sworn enemy, but somehow, they both landed in the same hopeless situation with the same enemies. And Iorveth knew that Roche would, just like him, never sell his men out. They would die here together.

"Where are we?" Iorveth just realized that he had no idea where this cursed dungeon was. Roche startled, he had dozed off and Iorveth had woken him up. He wasn't sorry. Maybe he felt that they had the same fate, but the man to his right still had killed many of his Scoia'tael.

He saw Roche shift again in his bonds, it must be pretty arduous, being kept upright like that.

"Deireadh Prison in Oxenfurt."

Iorveth let out an irritated breath. "Fitting," he commented.

Roche nodded. He knew enough of the elder speech to know that it meant 'End', simple as that.

A silence settled between them, maybe Roche tried to get some more sleep, and Iorveth leaned back against the wall, trying to get at least a bit comfortable in the damp and cold cell. Thankfully he was still wearing his full set of clothes. He had been compressed right away so they didn't have time to search him and get rid of his armour.

His hand immediately flew to his right boot when the thought hit him. It was still there! His hidden dagger. He had spent all his other weapons in the fight in the cave, but his dagger remained untouched. He looked around the cells again. No guards in sight, Margarita hadn't moved yet and Roche dozed at the wall.

He unsheathed the dagger and quickly tried to get it inside the locks of his chains. He swore under his breath when it didn't fit.

"Is that a…?" Iorveth's head snapped to the right when he heard Roche's now pretty awake voice.

His first thought was that Roche would reveal the dagger to the guards, but after a second thought it was highly unlikely. Roche despised the Redanians even more than him in the moment, and had the roles been reversed Iorveth wouldn't have sold Roche out.

"Yes, but it doesn't fit and they'll find it as soon as they search me, so…" he let out a frustrated sigh and thought about attacking the guards right away when they would come for him.

"I could take it." Roche just stated it, as if it was a general suggestion, whereas Iorveth had rarely heard anything more hare-brained. Giving the only weapon available to his sworn enemy sounded just ridiculous.

He heard Roche sigh, "Just think about it. Store it in my boot, they won't search me again. And you can take it back later, not much I can do about it," he nodded to his bound hands.

It did make sense, but Iorveth still despised the thought of giving up his only weapon.

"Or, "he heard Roche continue, "you could just shove that damned thing up your arse and hope that they don't find it"

Iorveth's head snapped back to Roche and he shot him an indignant look. That guy looked rather broken, but the derisive half-smile on his face showed that his spirit was far from it. To his chagrin he even held his gaze until Iorveth looked back down on the dagger still in his hand.

There was only one option, as much as he hated it.

He let out an elven curse for good measure and made his way towards the metal bars separating their cells.

Roche didn't make a comment – which was better for him – and put his left foot as far to the side as he could. He hissed when he had to put more of his weight on his injured right foot.

Iorveth squeezed his bound hands through the bars and placed the sheathed dagger inside Roche's boot.

He went back into his cell with a sigh. He just hoped he wouldn't repent this.

"You better not lose it" _or you will regret it_. He didn't say it, because even for him, it sounded trite and hollow.

* * *

Elvish translation

Ys – down  
Vort – away  
Deireadh - end

* * *

AN: So, another chapter finished, it got a lot longer than I initially intended. I'm a bit indecisive yet about the particulars of the next chapters, there's obviously some kind of torture coming up. I could write that directly from the character's perspective but it would get pretty brutal I guess… I could also just indirectly describe it. If you have an opinion on the matter, please let me know. And thanks to everybody that reviewed, you guys keep me motivated :)


	4. Chapter 4

AN: First of all: I'm so sorry for how long it took me to update this, I was occupied with real life and this chapter just wouldn't flow, so I had to go back and rewrite it. To all the people who reviewed: Thank you so much, you really keep me motivated :)  
Warning: I know you already expect it, this chapter contains violence and torture.

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

Iorveth was woken up by the sound of metal on metal. A glance to his right showed him that Roche was also awake. Three guards and a witch hunter walked in. Iorveth wasn't sure if it was one of the witch hunters that were present at his apprehension. He looked a bit familiar, but the strange leather strap across their nose from their uniform still irritated him.

"That's Roald Kelt, the son of a bitch that does the torturing around here," Iorveth heard Roche whisper with raw voice.

The group passed Margarita's cell, Roche's, and unsurprisingly halted before Iorveth's cell door. Two of the guards carried crossbows that they now trained on him, the third one opened the door. So, the dagger that was now concealed in Roche's boot wouldn't have been useful for anything.

Iorveth slowly stood up, facing Kelt. He had a look of utmost complacence on his face, he was clearly enjoying his profession and all the bloody work it included. Apart from that, he had a strong built and a rather thick bone structure, indicating, together with his name, that he or his ancestors originated from Skellige.

"Iorveth himself", he drawled, "I never thought you would let yourself get caught alive."

Iorveth let out a huff filled with contempt. "If you'd value your principles higher and hadn't worked together with this sorceress, I wouldn't be here."

Kelt obviously didn't like the mention that the sorceress had done his job. But he collected himself quickly. "Oh, Tira is an exception. She hates her sisters and you lot nearly as much as I do."

"Oh, and as long as she's useful," Iorveth whipped his head to the right. He had nearly forgotten that Roche was still there until he had spoken up, "you'll use her and are so kind to not burn her on the stake," he shook his head, a humourless smile on his face.

"Don't worry Roche, I'll take care of you after the elf, I think your leg could use a bit more treatment," he grinned and then motioned for the guards to get a hold of Iorveth. They took him left and right while one crossbow was still pointed at him. When he was lead along the corridor, he heard Roche mumble something like "what a luck that I've got two of them you ploughing bastard."

They went to the right, through a door that led to a rather spacious room, and even more than it looked, it reeked of fear, blood and pain. Iorveth was shoved against the wall and searched thoroughly, afterwards they got rid of his cuffs so they could strip him of his armour. The crossbow remained pointed at him, so he didn't try anything.  
They weren't very careful with cutting his garments up, making sure to leave some deep gashes along the way. It was humiliating, but Iorveth reacted with not even a flinch.

As he stood against the wall, wearing only his green trousers, his boots and his light green undershirt that left most of his neck exposed, he began to feel the cold crawl into his body. The guards dealt some punches to his head and stomach for good measure and then secured him to a chair that was seated in front of a table in the middle of the room. They bound his arms to the backrest, but his legs remained free for the moment. Iorveth did not like one bit of where this was going. At least Kelt had disappeared into a room at the side, leaving him with his three guards. Well, there was really nothing that he could do but wait.

He now realized how starved and thirsty he was. Whatever ploughing spell the sorceress, Tira, had casted on him, it had completely drained him of his energy reserves, and he hadn't gotten anything to eat or drink in this damned prison either.

His gaze went around the rather spacious room, it was stuffed with all sorts of chains and some contraptions that were more likely there to instill fear in the common folk but to really be used. There were rather few things that could actually serve as a weapon. He could see an iron rod in a fireplace nearby, but he had no chance of reaching it. He had a bad feeling that it would soon be very near his skin. Iorveth shivered once again, when the door opened and the witch hunter named Kelt stepped out. He strode confidently towards his prisoner.  
Iorveth kept his upright position in the chair and only cast him a glance when he stood before him.

The witch hunter only laughed. "Oh, we will get rid of that insufferable pride soon enough."

"If you really think that this whole thing," Iorveth pointed out the room with his head, "will get you anywhere, you are even dumber than I thought you were, dh'oine."

The pesky man only chuckled and made his way behind Iorveth. He felt a hand dig painfully into the tattooed skin of his left shoulder. Iorveth remained completely still, he wouldn't give Kelt a reaction.  
The fingers dug deeper, and Iorveth knew that they were now drawing blood. He felt the weight of the witch hunter on his shoulder when he leaned in and nearly flinched when he felt hot breath on his right ear.

"You will soon enough realize," Kelt whispered, "that you won't get out of here. And that your life, your whole existence will only consist of pain, worsening day by day," his fingers dug even deeper at the mention, and Iorveth unvoluntarily let out a hiss, "maybe not today or tomorrow, but eventually even you will reach your limit. I have all the time in the world." He finally let go and Iorveth internally let out a sigh of relief when the witch hunter returned to before the table.

"Get his right hand."

Iorveth saw the prison guard approach his right side in the last moment, due to his missing eye. The man cut the rope and slammed his hand on the table in front of him. Iorveth didn't like one bit where this was going and balled his hand to a fist. But the guard dug his knuckles into his hand and Iorveth was forced to spread his fingers on the table. He tried to get out of the guard's grip with his whole body, but with his left arm still tied to the chair, he stood no chance. With heavier breath than normal, he ceased his struggles. Kelt's face was occupied by a predatory smile when he took out a dagger and let it twist between his fingers, knowing that Iorveth was watching him and the dagger intently.

Kelt leaned forward and held the dagger in a backhand grip above Iorveth's trapped hand. The elf clenched his teeth and involuntarily also his eye when the dagger was brought down.

Pain erupted from his little finger, but a lot blunter than he expected. He reopened his eye and was greeted not by a severed finger like he expected, but by a finger that was standing out in an awkward angle. Taken aback, he looked at Kelt, who just chuckled quietly. "I'm not cutting off your limbs just yet, I'm saving that for later," and with that, he lifted the dagger again and slammed it down, pommel first, onto his already damaged finger. The breaking sound was drowned out by the scream Iorveth couldn't hold in. It hurt, the pain was rushing up his arm and pulsated at his disfigured finger.

Kelt was looking very pleased with himself. He lifted the dagger, and let the pommel crash down on his fingers again, this time the ring finger. Iorveth groaned through grit teeth. And the pommel came down again with the sickening sound of breaking bone.

Iorveth didn't know how much more of this he could take, black spots were already swimming in the periphery of his vision. The pain, together with the knowledge that he was surrounded by enemies and that he wasn't getting out of this, was beginning to overwhelm him. And by mischance, his body picked this exact moment to fail him. The black spots in his vision got bigger, and Kelt's surprised voice was partly shut out by a high humming sound. Iorveth closed his eye and the last thing he heard were some of Kelt's words: "wrong… damned elf… any water… amateurs…"

The numbness of unconsciousness lasted much too short, and was abruptly ended by a backhand blow to his face. Iorveth groaned as his senses and with them the pain returned. A cup of water was shoved at his lips and he drank it. He was outright parched, he hadn't gotten any water since his capture. The elf suddenly stopped drinking. Was the water poisoned…?

"Don't worry," Kelt was still sitting opposite of him, "it's not poisoned, I prefer other methods. And if you don't drink it, Hans will force it down your throat."

The guy to his right – Hans – tilted the cup and Iorveth drank. He could feel how his body practically imbibed the water upon contact. And he realized that his damaged right hand was not restrained at the moment, because Hans was already occupied. But his hand would do him no good in a fight and he was severely overpowered, and his other hand was still bound to the chair, so he irritatedly shoved the thought away and finished drinking.

"So, after this embarrassing display," Kelt raised his voice a bit so that his goons knew where to drop their featherbrained laughter, "we can continue with our talk."

 _Talk._ Iorveth couldn't refrain from a derisive snort.

Iorveth hated it. He hated the smug dh'oine before him, he hated the guard once again securing his arm, he hated this ploughing dungeon, and he hated that he had to scream once more when the damn hilt of the dagger crushed another bone on his ring finger.

Iorveth knew that it was far from over. And as Kelt continued, his cries turned to pants and Iorveth felt like he watched himself from a distance, interrupted by the sharp jolts of pain when his hand was further mutilated.

Finally, Kelt had enough. Or he had run out of bones to crush. Iorveth only looked briefly at his hand, and the water he drank before threatened to come up again. He quickly turned his head away with a shiver. Cold and pain were the only things left to feel. And hate. Hate towards the filthy human in front of him who thought of himself as a hero who punished everybody that wasn't human. Who used the pretence of justice to torture and kill. And who was enjoying the sense of power it gave him.

"I will kill you," Iorveth got the sentence out without a shiver in his voice.

The hint of anger in Kelt's eyes was quickly concealed by a humourless laugh.

"You can't make threats against me, filthy elf."

Iorveth gave no response, he had said what he needed to, and he meant it. If he would get the chance, Kelt would die, if need be together with Iorveth himself. He could relieve the world of this whoreson as his last deed.

"You still seem to misconceive your situation, elf," Kelt leaned forward, speaking calm and accentuated as if he was talking to an imbecile, "You will not get out of here."

He gave a sign to Hans to let go of Iorveth's hand.

"Nobody's getting you out of here"

He grabbed a hold of Iorveth's hand

"You will spend the rest of your life in this dungeon."

He interlaced his fingers with Iorveth's.

"You are at my mercy."

And with that, he squeezed.

Iorveth couldn't even stifle his scream this time. With his broken bones being painfully shifted, unbearable pain shot up his arm. When Iorveth was able to focus again, breathing heavily, Kelt was still leaning forward, too close for comfort, still gripping his hand.

"Did you understand that?"

When he got no answer from the elf, he shifted his grip only a bit. Iorveth groaned as a new shard of pain went up his arm. Iorveth didn't want to give Kelt the satisfaction of an answer. But when his glazed eye caught the damned human again, the elf realized that Kelt enjoyed this. He would gladly play this game forever.

"Yes", Iorveth snarled through gritted teeth, just to relieve Kelt of the fun he was having, he told himself, not at all to end the awful pain in his hand.

And surprisingly, Kelt let go. When the sharp pain transformed into a dull pulsing and Iorveth's heart found back to a more normal pace, the relief was shadowed over by his severe exhaustion.

Kelt stood up, a predatory glace in his eyes. And Iorveth knew that he had misjudged him. He would not take this small victory and leave him be for the moment. He would continue until he deemed the captive leader of the Scoia'tael broken enough for his liking.

Iorveth grit his teeth as another shiver ran through his body.

Kelt noticed it and turned around to his lackeys.

"It looks like our guest is cold. I've left a nice iron in the hearth, let's help him get warm again."

Iorveth could only grind his teeth and await what was to come.

* * *

AN: So, I really think that it's difficult to write torture scenes and make them realistic. I think that often the heroes are written practically immune to pain, so I hope that Iorveth doesn't come across too weak, but you have to consider that he was going through artefact compression and all that stuff. Yeah, let me know what you think, reviews help me get and stay motivated :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

His leg and his forced standing position were killing him. Well, not killing, but it was a pretty effective method of torture without needing anyone to be present, Roche had to leave that to Kelt.

He shifted his weight to his damaged leg again and hissed at the pain that shot up his leg and the relief in his arms. He once again heard a muffled groan from the torture chamber. Roche was sure that the doors were guiding sounds so good on purpose. Another intimidation technique. They had been in there for quite a while with Iorveth. Roche was a bit puzzled about himself because he didn't want Iorveth to be tortured too badly. He wasn't sure if it was because he needed his potential escape partner intact or because he didn't like the thought of anybody but him torturing that thrice damned elf. On the other hand, Roche knew pretty well whose turn it would be as soon as Kelt was finished with Iorveth.

Margarita suddenly stopped with the incoherent mumbling and groaning she started a while ago, and the door to the torture chamber opened.

Iorveth, flanked by two guards, looked even worse than Roche had expected. He could barely hold himself upright, and without his armour, he looked strangely vulnerable. Well, Iorveth was anything but vulnerable, he was very strong built for an elf, but Roche only knew him in his outlaw outfit, and seeing him only in a thin shirt, marred with obvious burn marks, made Roche feel all the more vulnerable himself.

Sure, he could fully understand the bad state Iorveth was in, with the elf's attitude and damn pride that had pissed him off for a long time, it was no surprise that Kelt felt the same way.

When the guards and their prisoner passed his cell, Roche could get a small glimpse at Iorveth's right hand, that he held at his bent arm protectively. Roche cursed the damn torchlight that made him see the mess. He had once seen a young recruit that had gotten his hand into the gears of a ballista, and he could see no big difference. Kelt must really hate the elf's guts.

Iorveth was brought back into his cell, but when the two guards secured his hands over his head to a ring on the cell wall, Roche had to barge in.

He started with a derogatory laugh, "Do you have any idea what you're doing here?"

The young guards looked at him, surprised that he dared to speak up.

"If you chain this broken hand over his head," he continued as long as they still listened, "it will die off, and the elf soon after. It needs blood flow… damn, you are inapt, I wonder why Kelt keeps you around."

The guards looked properly unsettled, so he continued, "not that I mind the elf dying, but as I know you lot, he will be left in the cell and begin to stink and I could do without that. It already smells enough as it is."

Iorveth somehow collected the strength to throw an indignant look in his direction.

The guards obviously didn't know what to do, they didn't want to do as Roche said, but they didn't want to risk their prisoner dying and dealing with Kelt's wrath either.

"Amateurs." Roche mumbled, full well knowing that they heard it. One of them stopped short before the bars of his cell, threatening look on his face. But Roche knew people like him. Not much of a brain, and a follower. He wouldn't touch his master's prisoner without a command. And he didn't. Maybe Roche would pay for it later, but for the moment he succeeded as the second guard left Iorveth's hands free. Well, not exactly free, since they were still chained together, but not to the wall.

When they left earshot, they began to mumble to each other, probably trying to decide if they should ask Kelt and risk him knowing that they listened to their other prisoner or just leave them be. Roche knew exactly what the cowards would go for.

* * *

When they were finally left alone, Roche turned back towards Iorveth. He was cradling his right hand in his left, mouth tightly pressed shut in pain and his eye emptily staring ahead.

"You'll have to set the bones straight, you know," Roche was startled by his own raw voice.

The elf didn't react.

"I said –"

"I am not deaf, Roche," he was interrupted by Iorveths harsh outburst. He was still staring into nothingness.

Roche decided to not ask him why he didn't get to work, then.

"Why should I?"

The question, and even more so the resigned tone in which it was asked, hit Roche hard. What on earth was the elf thinking?

"You know exactly that it won't heal if you don't set the bones straight. It will –"

He was interrupted by a snort from Iorveth, that was so derogative it sent a shiver down Roche's spine.

" And if I set it straight, Kelt will happily mess it up again. Why should I go through the trouble?"

Roche was for once speechless. As always with him, it didn't last long.

"So, you're giving up, is that it? After one day here? That's pathetic, even for you."

Now he had made the elf angry. Iorveth turned to Roche, teeth clenched and jaw angrily shoved forward. The red and black burns on his neck accentuated his paleness in an unsettling way.

"You have no idea what he did, have you?", when Roche didn't answer, he continued, "He didn't even brag with it, but we both knew it. He destroyed my hand. Have you seen healed bones? Even if I had a healer right now, my hand would get stiff and crippled. I'll never be able to pull a bowstring again. What should the Scoia'tael do with a leader that can't even shoot an arrow?"

Roche hadn't thought about that yet. It was bad, but it was still no reason to give up. He wanted to say just that, but in the tense and bitter silence he realized that that might lose him his only ally. He took some deep breaths and collected himself.

"Look," he began, "I've seen you fight with a sword in each hand, and I don't think that you are the leader of the Scoia'tael just because you are a great archer. You don't need your right hand that badly. Right now, we need to get out of here, and after that we can look for a good healer who will fix your hand as good as possible."

The silence that followed was only filled with the sounds of their breathing.

Roche waited, he was a patient man.

Finally, Iorveth snorted. Not deprecative, but a bit amused, Roche realized to his relief.

"If this is the best you got at building people up," the elf finally turned his head towards Roche, "you are truly terrible at it."

 _Well, it's gotten you out of your fool mood, hasn't it?_ Roche didn't say it out loud, the elf would probably get angry again and his _surely_ _not as bad as the elf was indicating_ motivational speech would go to waste.

Roche shifted his weight again when there was no further reaction from the elf, and subsequently hissed in pain at the sensation.

He heard a quiet groan, that the elf wasn't able to completely suppress to his left. Roche grinned inwardly as he didn't have to look to see Iorveth begin to set his bones straight.

"Don't. Say. A word."

Roche had to let a part of the inward grin out. In these times, he had to make the best of every small victory.

* * *

AN: Surprise, I found my motivation again and continued the story. I fully plan to finish it, I already have a plan for it, and I really need to finish a story with those great characters. However, I can't guarantee how fast I will be with it. Please tell me what you thought about this chapter, reviews motivate me a lot :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

They had taken Roche hours ago. At least it felt like it. Without windows or any specks of nature around him, Iorveth had problems keeping track of time. The night - he assumed so because no guards had bothered them for a long time - had gone by relatively calm, but sleep wouldn't really find him, the soft sobs of Margarita and the occasional rustling of a rat were keeping him on edge. Roche didn't seem to have a problem with it, he had managed to sleep in this what must be extremely painful upright position. Maybe it was absolute exhaustion and Iorveth would be like this too in a few days. Well, that was actually not the worst part. Elves were, in contrast to humans, much more in tune with the nature around them. And being surrounded by cold grey stones and bars with not even a hint of fresh air was really getting to him.

Iorveth turned the wooden bowl around in his left hand. It was empty, he had eaten the stale broth with the cabbage and the leathery fat pieces some time ago, to at least have a minimum of energy and liquid in his system. The rough wood under his fingers was the only thing that somehow connected him to the outside.

His gaze caught his right hand, and the cold claws of despair once more sank into his heart. The Scoia'tael and he himself were defined by their absolute will to fight and their persistence. He would lead the Elves back to freedom, no matter the cost. But with a crippled hand, he wouldn't be able to fight, and what would the Scoia'tael do with a commander who wasn't able to lead them into battle and fight with them in the front row? He sighed. He had not yet looked for someone to take his position. Well, it wouldn't do him any good, because Iorveth wouldn't step down as their leader either, what should he do, he didn't have anything else. Maybe it was best for the Elves if he died right here. A martyr's death, having not spilled their secrets might give them more reason to fight than seeing their leader damaged and unable to fight.

His knuckles had gone white around the bowl and Iorveth released it. It rolled towards the bars with an empty noise.

He heard another groan from the torture chamber. The doors weren't soundproof at all, and Iorveth suspected that it was deliberate.

Roche had had no chance to use the dagger, the two guards all but carried him out, because his legs had given in. It hadn't stopped the blue stripes commander from calling the guards all sorts of names, but they had quickly countered with a fist to his mouth, which made his subsequent grin look bloody and manic.

Iorveth's thoughts went back to how the two of them could possibly escape from this prison. Even together, they did not even make one good fighter. Roche was barely able to walk and Iorveth's right hand was completely useless.

A particularly loud groan from the captured sorceress made him lose track of his thoughts for a moment. He couldn't really see her through all the bars and it was hard to tell if she was awake or if she was just having nightmares. It probably didn't make a big difference considering where she was.

How long would he last? Or would they get him so far that he'd choose to use his knife on himself?  
No, he wouldn't choose the coward's way, and he was damned if he would break down faster than bloody Vernon Roche.

He stretched his shoulders; his muscles had become stiff in the damp and cold dungeon. His burns hurt when the skin around them stretched. The pain in his right hand had dulled, but it still throbbed, and he dreaded to look at the mess that had swollen even more over the night. The colour had turned to sickening spots of blue, red and green. He leaned his head against the cold wall. He could do nothing but wait, and he hated it.

Finally the door to the adjacent torture chamber opened and the two guards dragged Roche back into his cell, this time not bothering to chain him to the wall. No surprise since the former commander of the blue stripes was unconscious. Or was he…? No, his chest still moved. He was not dead yet. The guards left them alone for the time being but Iorveth was certain that they would soon come back for him.

The elf reluctantly put his bound hands through the bars to reach for Roche's boot. No, he couldn't quite reach his dagger, so he settled on shaking Roche by his foot to wake him up.

Roche was irresponsive, but Iorveth wouldn't back down and began to smash the boot to the ground more insistently. Iorveth made sure it was not the damaged leg, but Roche nevertheless jolted awake and pulled his leg back reflexively. Iorveth did not expect the haunted look in his face, but he didn't comment when an expressionless mask quickly slammed into place.

"Damn you, Elf," he groaned, "I have just been tortured to unconsciousness, the last thing I need is seeing your damn face waking up."

"I need the dagger." Iorveth could do without Roche's irksomeness.

"Well, you woke up in a good temper, didn't you?", the Blue Stripes Commander slowly sat up and shifted towards the cell-wall, carefully manoeuvring around putting any weight on his right leg. He leaned against the wall with a sigh. "And you think this time, you'll be able to use it?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

"It might be the last chance, if we loose even more functioning limbs, a crippled old geezer would have a better chance against them," he held what was left of his hand up with a strained smile.

Roche looked to his leg thoughtfully. "You might be right. But I'd choose dying in a pitiable fight a hell over pegging out in this damn dungeon. And I think you'd choose the same."

He finally reached for the dagger in his boot. Iorveth just gave him a noncommittal snort and took the dagger back that Roche handed him through the bars. He didn't place it in his boot however, he placed it between his stomach and his bound hands, concealing it from any guards that might come.

Roche saw it with a short laugh. "You really mean it this time, don't you?"

"Shut up and play unconscious, the guards might be careless if they think we're no threat."

Roche shot him an annoyed glance, and Iorveth remembered that the Blue Stripes commander had just gone through severe torture and now he had to suffer from the elf's bad mood and being pushed around, but he wouldn't apologize. Not to this man. Especially since Iorveth was going to get the human out of this dungeon together with him. The elf let himself slide down the wall into a more relaxed position, let his head fall towards his shoulder and shut his eye. He glanced out from a small slit under his lid and found that he could have a good look at the hallway before their cells.

He heard an annoyed grunt and shuffling to his right and a glance showed him that Roche shifted back to the ground, his position similar to the one the guards had deposited him.

Iorveth once again let his thoughts slide.

He was brought out of his misery when the guards once again showed up. They were three, and one carried a crossbow. Iorveth wanted to curse his bad luck, but he remained calm, eye still nearly closed and breath steady. He had to attack, there was no chance to hide the dagger now without it being noticed, and if the dagger was taken, his only hope of escape would be gone.

The guards arrived before his cell and one of them gave the bars a kick. Iorveth didn't react, he wanted them to come in and get him. One of them cursed when there was no reaction and opened the cell door. Iorveth saw that the guy with the crossbow stayed in the corridor and the crossbow was drawn but pointed to the floor for now. He had to be fast.

When the first guard approached him and reached out for him in a bent over position, Iorveth made his move. The guard's eyes just incomprehensively stared at him as the live was quickly fading from them and Iorveth felt the warm blood running over his hand, dagger buried deep in his throat. In the next second, he jumped up, yanking his dagger out and crossing the cell towards the guard with the crossbow. But he was too slow, the guard had already raised his weapon and Iorveth wouldn't reach him in time. Before he could shoot, the guard stumbled, he hadn't realized that the other prisoner, namely Roche, had reached through the bars for his leg and was yanking it back.

The short moment the guard was distracted was enough for Iorveth. He dove out of the door, damaged hand reaching for the crossbow, shoving it to the side and once again buried his dagger deep into the soft flesh of a throat. He heard the crossbow fall to the floor and release, but he had to take care of the last guard.

The guard had drawn his sword, but thankfully he wasn't a very bright one, otherwise he would have run or yelled for help. Iorveth wouldn't give him a chance to change that. When he swung the sword in a small arch towards Iorveths abdomen, he quickly drew back, closely evading it. When the second strike came, he stepped sideways, blocked the sword with his dagger and rammed his right elbow into the guard's throat. He wasted no time and brought his leg behind the guard's, shoving him back and sending him to the ground and slitting his throat.

Iorveth breathed heavily while cleaning his dagger at the guard's uniform. He also tried to clean his hand, but he would need a lot more than a cloth to wash the blood away.

He finally looked for Roche, who was slowly standing up while leaning heavily against the bars. The former blue stripes commander was not looking good. Maybe he would be more of a burden when trying to escape… Iorveth looked for the exit, trying to estimate how many guards would wait outside, but he had no idea.

Roche seemed to have read his thoughts, his voice was dangerously calm when he asked: "Do you plan to let me out in the near future? You could look for the keys, then, Elf." Iorveth still wasn't sure if it was a good idea to let his nemesis out of the cell he was securely in in the moment, it felt more than wrong, but Roche had saved his life earlier when he went for the guard's leg, so Iorveth reluctantly reached for the guard's keys and opened the cell door. He jumped back when the commander slammed the door open, nearly smashing his face in.

"I swear if you hadn't opened it, I would have strangled you through the bars, bastard."

Well, Iorveth hadn't expected any gratitude but that… well, he had hesitated, so he maybe deserved it. He looked at Roche getting the crossbow from the ground and taking the bolts from the guard, and so Iorveth took the other guard's sword and secured the sheath around his waist. He then followed Roche's hobbling silhouette towards the exit of the dungeon.

* * *

AN: Sooo, I'm so sorry for leaving this story for so long, I really have no excuse, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I hope that I'll be faster with the next one. By the way, it is harder than I thought to always remember not writing Iorveth's eye in plural...;)


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